


the bittersweet things

by Emeka



Category: Fire Emblem: Shin Ankoku Ryuu to Hikari no Ken | Fire Emblem: Shadow Dragon
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Romance, Underage Kissing, some vengeful early game marth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: The early days, before Prince Marth begins the war proper to take back his country.
Relationships: Cain/Marth (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	the bittersweet things

It's a mixedly great relief when they finally stop for the night. Cain would never have ever dared to complain or suggest it himself, especially for himself; they are under great urgency, and his pain is insignificant compared to their prince's. Still. It feels good to be off his aching feet, to give his wounds a rest. Still. When he's off his feet he wants nothing more than to be back on them.

He has too much time to think of the comrades he left behind. And the death of their king.

Another night on their march, another forced bedrest. Jagen is in no mood to hear otherwise and he has enough sense (for once, Abel says the first few nights when he soon gives in) not to selfishly make too much noise. It makes him feel like a meek little lamb, not good enough even just to keep watch.

He stares up at his tent's pitched ceiling and grumbles discontentedly to himself. The gouge in his side itches. It's probably healing just fine, and he's not any baby when it comes to pain itself. But he'd forgotten how tedious this is without a cleric or medicinal aid. Not that they don't have some medicine... but there are better uses to put it to. Just in case.

The tent flap opens. Cain jumps up on reflex, only half-thinking of maybe an intruder--but it's just Prince Marth, looking at him with the same quiet, eerie expression he's been going around with these days.

He tries to bow from his reclined position. The position makes his wound flare up and a grunt surprises its way out of him.

"At ease, Cain." Prince Marth fastens the flap close and sits back a moment on his heels. His face looks even older in the shadows, his cheeks too thin, more than just a fourteen year old boy. There's something expectant and foreboding in it. His knuckles are expectantly tensed all the time now.

Cain uneasily nods. He's spoken to him barely at all lately. The prince has hardly spoken to anyone since they departed, and there is little reason to butt himself in. It may not _wholly_ be his fault, but it feels like dishonor to his station as a knight to have returned alone, to be alive at all, when the king he was supposed to protect is dead, and so many others besides. "Can I help you, my prince?"

Prince Marth bows his head a moment, and still his knuckles relax, clench, relax. Cain wonders if he's here to give him a piece of his mind finally, because he'd surely deserve it, and he'd even feel grateful for it. But the prince's expression, when he looks up, does not seem angry--not at him, though there is a serene sort of hate on it, and he realizes it is only a magnification of the face he has worn these past few days. "You must hate it, being stuck here."

"Yes, my prince. Forgive my impatience--"

"Just as I hate it." He comes forward on his knees then hands, over Cain's legs. They twitch uselessly, unsure whether to move or not. "Hate that they betrayed us. Hate not being able to do anything. Hate being useless."

Cain averts his eyes, then slides them back. He has sparred with the prince before, but never been so close to him like... this. He's over his hips now, and his knee brushes into his wound, a pain that for the moment is very far away. "In time, we can fight back. Once you're older, and we've recovered in Talys." It feels strange to repeat the same words he has so often heard and found lacking. He can't imagine the prince finds them any more comforting.

"I know. I know all that, yet--"

It doesn't help. He knows it too.

"Cain," his prince says in a soft and brittle voice, far too close now, nearly straddling his abdomen, "when the time comes, will you be with me? Will you help me kill them all?"

"My prince--"

"Cain? Will you stand with me?" His prince's hands come up as his lower body comes down, and grasp the sides of his head, chill skin and fingers still tensed. The pads of his thumbs press firmly into his cheekbones. Jagen would kill him if he came in here and saw him on him like this, but what is he supposed to do? Throw him off?

"I'd want--nothing more, but--" it's difficult right now to remember his ire. Prince Marth's eyes are so close to his he can't look away. And yet he's not sure that he's really seeing him at all. "You shouldn't have to suffer so much. Just leave it to me, and... I'll make them pay." It's what he planned to do from the very beginning anyway. Speaking the words in this situation feels off though; Prince Marth needs gentling down, not riling up. Sadly he is lacking in that department.

To his horror his prince only gets closer, his forehead now bumping into his. The pupils of his eyes quiver. They swallow his entire vision. "You're like me, Cain. You feel the same as me. I know you do. We'll do it together. Promise me, Cain. Promise you'll stay with me. Take back Altea with me."

Cain feels his heart thudding, distantly, like the pain had been. His voice shakes. "A knight can hope for no less."

It's so sudden and out of place he can't comprehend it when it happens. A mouth hard on his, cold fingers pulling up and through his hair. His hands instinctively land on his prince's legs and push, hard enough to get the idea across. It's not stopping. His prince only mumbles between another press 'be my knight, Cain' and he thinks he sees. If this is what is needed of him is it really any worse than taking a life? Than the vengeance he has sworn to? A knight serves in all things, and while he never thought he'd serve in _this_ manner, he will provide what little succor he can.

His prince slows readily for him as he moves his hands to his face, to control a little more easily for the pace and angle. Not that he has much in the way of skill or experience. But he thinks he can manage better than jamming their mouths together. They kiss slow, lips only and still not at all chaste, as he tries not to remark in his mind how soft his prince's lips are, or how smooth his skin. 

His outside feels warm--he's probably flushed, and his skin tingles wherever his prince touches. Heat is gathering in places it shouldn't. But inside he feels the way he does in early winter, when the frost comes in. Empty sparring grounds. Grey skies. He introduces his tongue in a quick swipe on his prince's lower lip, testing, this far? Yes. Prince Marth presses into him harder, mouth and all, and he hopes he doesn't feel what his body is doing with the sheets in the way.

Prince Marth's skin is cool but the inside of his mouth is hot like a furnace, almost pleasant, though his teeth scrape eagerly against his tongue. He's not sure who's leading at this point; his prince keeps asking more and more of him and he's trying hard to keep things quiet. The distinct sound of soul-kissing is clear and audible in this tent, and he doubts the material blocks much.

Finally Prince Marth pulls away from him, and for a moment they intermingle heavy breaths. He hates it, seeing his prince like this, with his reddened cheeks and swollen mouth, gleaming wet down to his chin. The heavy-lidded look in his eyes. It's on top the hate, that for all of this, still has not left. It probably won't until the day he can complete his promise.

"You're sworn to me, Cain?" His voice, at least, sounds unaffected but for the breathing. "With this, we're bound. Until the very end."

"The very end," Cain echoes, for good or ill. In one hand he takes one of the prince's own and kisses the back of the knuckles. Still taut, they tremble with expectation.


End file.
